"Guilt and Desire"

You have many guilty pleasures, the red wine hidden in the middle compartment of the fridge, how your nipples peeked out under thin shirts and the desire from strange men. The last one you wouldn’t admit to anyone else. Since puberty you had claimed your power, the advantage that came from being the object of fantasies, you noticed it as your breasts began to swell and Emeka, the bad boy, who always sat behind started to pass love letters forward. You were 13 and uninterested, until other boys started to do you favors as well, help you out. That was it, the attention, voted prettiest girl in JSS3, Anayo copied all your notes that term, and Abel cut your portion of the field with his blunt cutlass.

You savored the attention and soon came to depend on it, the sway over boys you didn’t care about. Showing off as much as you could, shorter skirts, tighter skirts, aware of how your butt would be etched in imaginations when it got dark.

You never had the opportunity though, your parents strict as they come, recognized a restlessness in all young girls and locked you indoors during the holidays. Except the long kisses after night prep while Laolu in SS3 felt you through your clothes, you grew up pretty guarded. University came and nothing changed, you got into relationships with the men you wanted but in between curfews and the administrative zealots, you didn’t find the freedom you wanted.

That was the past.

“Maybe this is going too far” you think as you slipped into Mr. Dele’s office. It’s almost 7pm but his curtains are drawn close, he smiles, his body pressed against you as he locks the door. This isn’t the first time but it still feels like your fault. It started as something you could control. He was your boss, yes, but also another of your admirers. You liked how he seemed careful about it, never really getting alone with you. Then you kept pushing a little closer, just to feel where the edge was, some kind of sick experiment to see how far he would go.

He doesn’t even let you in the office, his large hands sliding up your knees, lifting you, and pressing his hardness between your legs, grinding against your crotch. His tongue is in your mouth, and your eyes are closed. Your back hits the door and makes a thud, he doesn’t hear it or doesn’t care. Taking what he wants, selfish, as he’s always been.

You can’t think much when he’s so close.

His lips move to your neck, his hands unbuttoning your shirt. Then he carries you to the couch, taking your nipple in his mouth, you’re moaning, nipples hardening on his warm tongue. His fingers play your crotch in circles as you awkwardly place your hands are on his back.

Eyes rolled back.

He stops rubbing just as your legs begin to shake, you didn’t want him to stop. Then you kiss him unbuckling his belt, taking off his boxers. This was his way, making your need drip down your legs, taking his time before he pushed his tip between your legs. Everything else melts, you hold your breath as he pushes in deeper, then faster, his flesh slapping against yours, arms wrapped around his back, fingernails digging in and you moan "faster".

It’s a feeling you can’t describe, the pleasure building in you; breath upon breath and a guttural sound escapes his throat.

There’s no guilt in this moment.

Itoro is a feminist fascinated by words and philosophy, she likes to write about Nigerian women dealing with sex, men and religion. You can read more of her stories on